For fifty winters, king Beowulf did reign
With sage-like wisdom no one could contest,
He was a lion with silvery mane,
With heroic heart beating in his chest.
Lo, piercing his peace, a dragon did roar!
To challenge Beowulf for one last great fray
And without a blink, just as in folklore
He yelled, “Foul beast, your bowels I shall splay!”
Beowulf raged like a boar ready to charge!
In polished armor with sword razor keen,
He set off to dispatch this beast at large,
Leaving his solemn and beloved queen.
In dead of night, with a sliver of moon
Beowulf with cunning did stalk this hell spawn,
Through burned-out villages with bodies strewn,
He stealthily searched until crack of dawn.
As the sun rose and shown bright in his face
The beast suddenly swooped low to attack!
The warrior king then sidestepped with grace
Yelling, “Bring your best you damned daft throwback!”
The dragon wailed and swooped high in the sky,
Mounting his horse, Beowulf made for a dell,
He could hear the dragon give a shrilled cry
As Beowulf loosed a wild berserker yell!
Beowulf rode hard for a rocky ravine,
He could hear the ‘swoosh’ of the dragon’s wings
He turned with a hand gesture most obscene,
And yelled some rather unsavory things.
“Come on, you bastard, you son of a whore,
Swoop low with your foul fiery furnace breath!
For I yet have fight and a good bit more!
There’s naught that I fear as I welcome death!”
The dragon strafed Beowulf’s retreat with fire!
Which was Beowulf’s plan, for such place he knew,
This ravine narrowed which he saw prior,
Thus was his trap to draw his foe into.
By taunting the beast, Beowulf drew him in
Standing on horse at full gallop with sword,
Beowulf road on at full force with a grin,
To either victory, or his reward.
The dragon obliged careening quite low,
This time, his belly scraped rocky ditch face,
With his sword held high he landed the blow!
And for a moment, Beowulf felt such grace.
Time seemed to slow as the beast’s entrails burst
Out of its abdomen bathing the king,
It seems they both in this case fared the worst
As well, through armor, Beowulf felt great sting.
The Dragon’s barbed tail had pierced Beowulf through
At the last moment as Beowulf did cleave,
With smile on his face, that seemed to imbue,
Valhalla called, and this world he did leave.
At dawn, arrows lit a funeral pyre,
That foul dragon’s head was displayed for years,
Many swear you can hear Valhalla’s choir
And warriors toasting Beowulf with cheers.